


you're burning up and I'm burning out (or is it the other way around?)

by BookFangirlMaryJane



Series: Thoschei Spyvember Prompts [8]
Category: Doctor Who (2005)
Genre: Angst, Angst and Hurt/Comfort, F/M, Hurt/Comfort, I'm Sorry, Post-Episode: s12e10 The Timeless Children, Post-Prison, Spoilers, Spyvember Prompts (Doctor Who), The Doctor is lonely, Thoschei, Trauma, barely fluff, the Master is also a sweetheart, the Master is angry
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-11-25
Updated: 2020-11-25
Packaged: 2021-03-10 07:20:26
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,430
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27709645
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/BookFangirlMaryJane/pseuds/BookFangirlMaryJane
Summary: The Master shows up on the Doctor's doorstep, on the brink of death. There is only one thing she can do to save him. Even if he will probably never forgive her for it.--o--Written for Spyvember Prompts (by ineternity and Valc0), prompt was 'I thought I'd lost you.'Warnings: huge spoilers for series 12, especially the last episode. Also somewhat suicidal character? Only lightly referenced.
Relationships: Thirteenth Doctor/The Master (Dhawan)
Series: Thoschei Spyvember Prompts [8]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/2017984
Comments: 18
Kudos: 58





	you're burning up and I'm burning out (or is it the other way around?)

**Author's Note:**

> I'm back with something!  
> Uhhh this got a bit away from me... It was angsty at first and then I was at around 3,000 words and realized I still had to make it not sad again, so now it's this 5,000 word monster of barely any fluff.  
> Sorry.
> 
> Warnings: spoilers for series 12. I'm also referencing a character almost dying/wanting to die rather than have his body used... I'm not sure how much that counts as suicidal/non-con elements, so I'm putting this here, to be sure...

The Doctor sits in the control room, idly fiddling with switches and levers, waiting for something to happen. She’s not sure what, exactly, will happen. Something. Anything. Everything is so utterly dull. Prison had been dull, too. She can’t quite remember how many years she spent there until her escape attempts finally succeeded _~~(liar, liar, liar, she remembers, she remembers)~~_. It doesn’t matter. Now here she is. Waiting. Bored.

With a sigh the Doctor flops down onto her back. The floor digs into her shoulder blades but she doesn’t mind. It makes her feel grounded, that little itch of being uncomfortable. That should concern her, shouldn’t it? But there was nothing in prison but grey walls and boredom. No excitement, no happiness, no… change. Just her, in a cell, for years _( ~~decades~~ ~~centuries~~ ~~millennia~~ )_.

On her own.

Her fam is home on Earth. She hasn’t had the hearts to go back there yet. It’s been ages. Of course, when she drops back in, it’ll be only minutes after they arrived in Sheffield, if she navigates carefully. Still, it will be different for her.

Lying on the floor is boring. The Doctor sits up again. Stares at the screens. Flicks a few switches and presses a few buttons at random. Nothing. Ugh.

_Knock, knock._

Her head swivels around and she stares at the door.

_Knock, knock._

The Doctor scrambles to her feet. They’re in the middle of the vortex. No one should be able to knock on the door. Well. **Almost** no one. _~~(Her traitorous hearts beat faster at the mere thought of **him**.)~~_

With trembling hands she opens the door. Someone stumbles right into her, knocks both of them over and onto the floor. The Doctor has enough sense to keep her own body lax when her back crashes into the ground. Her arms wrap around the person on top of her on instinct.

They stay like that for a moment. The Doctor revels in the warmth, in the familiarity of him in her arms again. Then she pushes at his shoulder. He doesn’t move. She frowns and tilts her head so she can see his face.

“Master?” No reaction. That’s not good.

As careful as she can manage, the Doctor moves him off her and then crouches over his slumped form. His eyes are closed, his breathing shallow. There’s a gash on his cheek, dried blood all over his face. Dirt in his hair. He reeks of smoke and death and silver.

“Oh, Koschei, you idiot,” she whispers. She turns to the TARDIS. “Pull the med bay closer to the control room, please? And I’ll need a full-body scan. He’s hurt.”

Yellow lights flicker twice and then a quiet beep confirms that her beautiful ghost monument has understood and obliged.

Slowly, the Doctor pulls her oldest friend off the floor and manages to half-drag, half-carry him into the hallway and through the first door to the right. Med-bay. Good. He’s so still, motionless and silent. She doesn’t like it. She shuffles to a bed and lays him down on it. Pushes a strand of sticky hair off his forehead.

“Master, wake up.” He doesn’t respond. The Doctor tries not to panic.

The scan is done quickly and then she’s left staring at the screen, hearts clenching. It’s bad. It’s really, **really** bad. Bad enough that she has to reach for his hand and press her fingers to his pulse points. Two unsteady beats. No symmetry at all. One heart beats frantically while the other feels like it’s about to give out. It will if she doesn’t do something right this second.

But what **can** she do? How can she help him? She can’t lose him, not again. But she has no idea how many regenerations he’s got left, if that is an option at all, if…

And then the solution comes to her. It’s so easy. Why hasn’t she thought to do this before? Right, because she’s been doing her very best to forget about the fact that she has unlimited regeneration cycles, thus unlimited regeneration energy, which she can use to heal him. Like River, giving her regeneration energy to save the Doctor from that poisoned kiss.

He won’t like it. She knows he won’t like it. But he’s out cold and it’s the only way.

Her hands tremble when she unbuttons his shirt and places her palms on his chest. She quickly clambers onto the bed, leans over him, until they’re face to face. He looks pained, even in unconsciousness. She hates that he’s not moving. Hates that he’s not making some snide comment at their position, or at her compassion, her inability to give up ~~_(on him)_~~.

With a shudder, one of his hearts gives out. Her eyes widen and she focuses, draws on the well inside her, pulls it up, pushes it out of herself and towards him.

Golden sparks fly from her hands into his chest. Golden sparks fly from her mouth into his mouth, right where their lips connect. Her whole body feels hot. His body starts glowing. Kiss of Life, isn’t that a thing humans say? This feels like a kiss of life. Of several lives.

The Doctor pours everything into him. Feels silver scream and melt away. There is one objective in her mind: _‘Heal him. Fix him. Help him. Make him whole again. Don’t make me lose him. Heal him, but please don’t change him.’_

The Master groans beneath her and his eyes flutter. She pours even more into his body, gives him everything she has. Brown eyes open, sluggishly, hazy. Then his gaze focuses and he stares right at her. A hand curls around her arm. His lips gently move against hers.

Her vision flickers at the edges. Maybe that’s enough? No, she doesn’t know that, she can’t be sure that it’s enough, what if it isn’t, what if…?

Oh, but she feels herself weakening. Maybe this is everything she can give. She doesn’t quite want to topple over right after saving his life. That would be idiotic. The Doctor smiles against his lips and gives it one last rush before pulling away.

With a gasp they break apart. “Doctor,” he mutters weakly. “Master,” she replies, the only thing even remotely fitting. But maybe it sounds a little bit too relieved, because his gaze sharpens.

“What happened?” She shuffles back so he can sit up. Only now does the Doctor realize how awkward their position is, her on top of him, straddling his legs. Oh, but how else was she supposed to do it? This was the best way, the fastest way for the transfer.

“You knocked on my door and then fainted when I opened,” she says, ignoring the obvious question about what she **did**. He frowns at her.

One of his hands comes up to his head. “Did you remove the Cyberium? It was…”

“Converting your thoughts?” She raises a brow. “Yeah, that’s what Cyber-technology **does**. I’m not even asking how long it’s been trying to do that or why you were stupid enough to let it.”

He snarls at her, teeth bared. “Good, because it’s none your business, Doctor.”

With a glare, she retorts: “Oh yes, it’s none of my business. That’s why you showed up unconscious on my doorstep.”

The Master raises a brow. “I knew you’d have the compassion and the technology to get that nasty little thing out of my head. You’re always good at defeating the Cybermen, of course you’d have a solution for this.”

But she didn’t. She really, really didn’t.

“How’d you do it, then? For future references. Some gold solution, mixed with something to vitalize the body? Really, I’ve never felt this energized. What did you **do** , Doctor?” To prove his words, he stretches his arms over his head and cracks his neck.

When the Doctor doesn’t answer, he looks at her. She’s not sure what he finds but his expression swiftly slips from tauntingly curious to hesitantly concerned.

“What did you do, Doctor?”

She opens her mouth, tries to come up with some pretty lie. He won’t like what she did.

_‘A little piece of you is in me. All I am is somehow because of you and believe me when I say, I cannot bear that.’_

But what else was she supposed to do? Let him **die**? Never. She could **never** do that.

“Doctor,” he growls, grabbing her arm. His grip is hard, unforgiving. He could break her wrist so easily. He will, if she doesn’t answer. He might once he hears her answer.

“You weren’t… You were unconscious. I had to carry you here and you didn’t react once. Your condition was getting worse. Hearts unsteady giving out, and I didn’t know if you had… if you would… There were no signs of regeneration, I didn’t know what… I wasn’t sure if you’d survive if I didn’t do something.”

“Do **what**?” The Master sounds like he’s not sure whether to be afraid or furious.

She doesn’t look at him when she whispers: “I channeled my regeneration energy into you and hoped it would work.”

The push is entirely expected. What she doesn’t expect is that she simply topples off him, off the bed, and no matter how much she tries, she’s unable to keep herself up. Her arms and legs feel like lead. Maybe she gave him too much. Why hasn’t she noticed her exhaustion until now?

The Doctor looks up at him from the floor. His eyes are filled with fury. She should get up, should leave him and his anger alone, should explain herself. But she doesn’t have the strength for it. Everything is so heavy…

“You were dying,” she whispers. “And I didn’t know what else to do.”

The Master’s face is pulled into a furious snarl. “So your solution was to force your life on me? To fill me up with yourself? After everything I told you on Gallifrey, you still made that choice?”

He’s getting up now, standing in a fluid motion, towering over her. The Doctor makes an effort to at least scramble up into a crouch, an almost-kneeling position, and feels her every muscle protest, feels her body shake.

“You were dying. You were dying, what was I supposed to do? I couldn’t… I **couldn’t** …” Couldn’t lose you? Couldn’t let you die? Couldn’t live on without you by my side?

Without warning, the Master sinks to his knees in front of her. Glares at her and spits: “Don’t **lie** , Doctor. You left me to die on Gallifrey. You don’t care if I die. You just didn’t want to have my **blood** on your hands.”

The Doctor flinches back. Those words sting. No, actually, they **hurt**. They’re **meant** to hurt.

“You know that’s not true,” she whispers.

“Do I?” He bares his teeth at her, grins. “You’re _so much more than me_ , Doctor, why would you care about me?”

She’s already shaking her head before he even finishes his sentence. “That’s not true. That’s not **true** , I was just angry. I’m not **more** than you. How could… how could I **ever** be more than you? How could you think that? Why would you **believe** that? I was angry! You just turned my whole life upside down, it was… **Of course** I’d lash out at you. I’m not… You’re the only person even **remotely** like me, now more than ever! I can’t **do** this without you!”

At the end of her speech, there are tears running down the Doctor’s cheeks, dripping over her chin and further down from there onto her shirt.

He’s staring at her, teeth still bared, but she thinks there is less fury in his gaze now.

“You’ve had **lifetimes** , Doctor, lifetimes without me.” It sounds like an accusation.

“Lifetimes I don’t **remember**. All I remember is us. You and me. You and me. Please, I’m sorry but I couldn’t let you die! I couldn’t **lose** you! I couldn’t! I can’t do this without you. I don’t **want** to do this without you! Please. Please, Koschei…”

He flinches back at the use of his name. Like a puppet with its strings cut, the Doctor’s body slumps and she tips forward into his chest. Too weak to catch herself. Too weak to do anything but whimper softly.

Warm hands catch her and she shivers. The Master looks down at her, surprise on his face. “You’re freezing,” he says, and oh, that explains why his hands feel so incredibly hot on her skin. She doesn’t have the strength to voice that thought, as suddenly her eyelids shutter and she feels her whole body just… give out. Then, nothing.

**—o—**

She wakes to a hand stroking her hair, warm against her clammy skin, and the sound of a lullaby, long-forgotten lyrics and a melody that makes her hearts clench. When she opens her eyes, slowly, painstakingly, still so very weak, it’s to find the Master above her, her head in his lap, both of them on his hospital bed. His voice is so soft.

A groan spills over her lips and he stops singing, looks down at her with eyes that seem just a little too relieved. “Master,” she whispers. Watches as he blinks. “Doctor.”

He helps her sit up. At the first try, she almost topples down again, but a warm hand keeps her steady, pulls her back into his chest and lets her rest there, cheek pressed against his shirt, against the fourbeat of his hearts. Perfect synchrony.

“What happened?” she asks, not even trying to tilt her head up at him. She doesn’t think it’s going to work very well.

“You were freezing, Doctor. You still are, as a matter of fact, but earlier you were approaching zero. Your heartsbeats were down to only 13 bpm, and slowing down further. No sign of any injury to cause you to go into a coma.”

His hand is slowly stroking circles over her back. She thinks she can make out little wiggles. Weird way of comforting her by rubbing her back like that, but okay.

“How much?”

The Doctor frowns. Did she miss something? “How much what?”

One hand reaches for her chin and tips it up so their eyes meet. What is that, burning there? It’s not hatred anymore, not fury. If this were any other person, she would tentatively call it desperation. But it’s him, so she doesn’t.

“How much regeneration energy did you give me, Doctor?”

Well, isn't that a good question. How much? How do you measure regeneration energy, anyway? So she just shrugs. “Dunno. Enough so you wouldn’t…” Her voice cracks.

“For a moment, you were… You were so still, I was sure you were dead, and I couldn’t let that happen. What was I supposed to do?” she admits into his shirt. Feels him tense and his hearts skip a few beats. Then he pulls her even closer and mumbles: “I thought the same just now, when you fainted like that. If your hearts hadn’t still been beating and you hadn’t been breathing…”

They’re both silent for a moment.

“I think it was a little too much,” she finally says. “No, I **know** it was too much. But I kept going until you opened your eyes again, and even then… I couldn’t be sure you’d be okay. Couldn’t be sure it was enough. Only, I was feeling a bit dizzy…”

“Idiot,” the Master breathes into her hair.

“Yeah,” the Doctor whispers back.

“Don’t do that again.”

“What if you’re about to die?”

She looks up at him, eyes pleading, needing him to understand that she can’t let him die, that she would rather die herself, that she would rather give him every last spark of her own regeneration energy than watch him die.

He looks down and something in her gaze must give him pause. He lets out a long sigh and just pulls her head back against his chest. Doesn’t answer the question. The Doctor closes her eyes and listens to his hearts. It doesn’t matter, either way. She’s going to save his life. That’s what happens if he’s about to die. She won’t have him die in her arms ~~( ** _again_** )~~ when she can do something about it.

“I think you need some rest, Doctor.”

Yeah, probably. But she’s too weak, too warm, too comfortable, to move away. Her arms come up to wind around his waist. She’s not moving. If he wants her to move, he’s going to have to move her himself.

The Master snorts. “I take it you’re disagreeing?”

“Only disagreeing with me moving,” she mumbles, already half asleep.

Of course, she gets shaken awake seconds later when his arms come up under her knees and around her back, lifting her off his lap and positioning her head against his shoulder. She clings to him, wide-eyed, but then relaxes again. He’s not throwing her off.

“Which way is your bedroom, Doctor?” he asks.

For a moment, the Doctor can only blink. Her bedroom? Why would he need to know that? “Huh? Why?”

“So you can **rest** , Doctor. You’re exhausted and still chilly.”

Right. Yes. People usually rest in their bedrooms. Not on the floor of their control room, or awkwardly hanging from the ceiling because they fell asleep _~~(unconscious)~~_ mid-repairs. Beds are a thing. Beds are a thing she’s supposed to rest in now.

That’s a weird thought.

When did that become a weird thought?

“Somewhere down the hall.” She weakly motions towards the left when the Master steps through the door into the hallway. “That way.”

“Very specific,” the Master says with a snort but starts walking anyway.

“Well, haven't been there for a while.”

When he looks down at her with a raised brow, she sighs. “I was imprisoned by Judoon for a while. Only just came back. You were lucky you dropped in when you did.” Memories of her small cell come back and she quickly shoves them down, burrowing further into the Master’s warm embrace.

“Oh? What did you do, stop them from arresting some poor sod?”

It’s not meant to hurt, the Doctor knows that, but she can’t help that it does. She doesn’t answer and instead closes her eyes. How’s she supposed to know what she did?

“Doctor?” he asks.

“Don’t remember,” she mutters. “They erased it.”

“The Judoon?”

Silence.

“The Division.”

He stops mid-step. The Doctor hides her face in the crook of his shoulder as his eyes burn a hole in the back of her head. “Oh.”

Her snort is entirely unexpected.

The Master scoffs and resumes walking. “You know, choosing a letter of the alphabet that’s so incredibly important that you just **have** to use it is the best thing I’ve come up with in terms of names.”

“Yeah, maybe. It’s a nice change of pace from the constant anagrams, in any case,” the Doctor finds herself saying, slowly relaxing again. He’s not prying. He’s not asking her about prison.

“It’s the door over there, by the way. I think,” she says, pointing at a small wooden door. She hasn’t seen that door in ages. Even before prison, she’s avoided it most of the time. What use is it, anyway? She can’t do reparations in her room, can’t keep her hands and mind busy. Can’t keep the memories at bay in a room stuffed full with old trinkets.

The Master carefully opens the door with his elbow and carries her inside. One step inside, he stops dead in his tracks and just stares at the chaos.

“Doctor, your room is a mess.”

She doesn’t have to look to know that. So instead, she just hums in agreement.

“How do you even sleep in that bed? Buried under dirty clothes and… whatever **that** is.” He gestures at the various parts of metal scattered across the bed and parts of the floor.

“I tried something. It didn’t work. Or I got bored halfway through. A little bit of one, a little bit of the other.” And then she didn’t bother putting it away because, well, why? She’s not using her bed. She’s not finishing up those projects. She doesn’t need this room.

“Alright then.” He sets her down next to the door, pulls a blanket from… somewhere to wrap around her shoulders, strokes a strand of hair from her forehead and tucks it behind her ear. “You’re staying here while I… unclutter your room. Seriously, how are you **messier** now than last time? Do you know how many times I’ve found your shit in the Vault? Do you know how many times I could’ve escaped using that stuff? How many **weapons** I could have built from it?”

“But you didn’t,” the Doctor points out, watching him gather her dirty shirts and socks. “You didn’t want to.”

He gives her a raised brow. “You can’t tell me that was a test, Doctor. You were just incredibly messy and forgot all your things. If you didn’t put them in your pockets and left them to rot until the stench made various humans sick.”

“That happened **one** time!” she calls out, almost raising herself up to start defending herself but her arms shake too much to lift her up and she slumps back down. The Master gives her a quick, concerned look. “Doctor, stay where you are. You’re too weak to get up. Even if it would be fun to watch you fall flat on your face.”

She narrows her eyes at him but stays put. He would catch her. _(She doesn’t want to find out if that’s really true. It would hurt. Falling on her face. Nothing else. Only falling on her face. ~~Oh, she's such a terrible liar.~~ )_

The Master keeps on clearing her room of the clutter everywhere. The clothes in a big pile next to the bathroom door, her unfinished inventions in a pile by the bookshelf, several books that were previously spread all over the floor are sorted right back into their shelf, under muttered commentary from the Master about the books he’s read, too.

Finally, the bed is completely cleared. The Doctor moves to get up but a gesture by the Master stops her. “Stay. Those sheets are old. They need to be replaced before sleeping here.”

And he does exactly that, stripping down the sheets and replacing them. Then he puts out fluffy pajamas and returns to her side. “Come on, then. Let’s get you into bed, Doctor.”

He lifts her up into his arms again, despite the Doctor thinking she could, probably, walk the short distance to her bed. She doesn’t say it. Having his arms wrapped around her feels a little like coming home.

_(She’s lying. It feels exactly like coming home, because that’s what it is.)_

When he sets her down on the bed, the Doctor mourns the loss of his warmth for a moment. Then he turns away and says: “How about some tea? You’re still cold.” He moves over to the door and leaves her alone in her room.

For a few minutes, the Doctor simply sits there, blanket still around her shoulders but steadily slipping down. He’s making her tea. He tidied up her room. He made her bed. What… what is she supposed to **do** with that? How is she supposed to…?

To distract herself from the thoughts, she quickly changes into the pajamas. They’re incredibly fluffy and warm. She loves them. She didn’t know she had these. Where in the world did he find these?! They’re **amazing**!

A few minutes later, the Master returns with a tray of steaming hot tea to find the Doctor curled up on her bed, amidst a pile of blankets, still shivering.

“Next time you decide to be reckless, Doctor, how about you stop before you give yourself hypothermia, yes?” he suggests none-too-subtly.

She just nods in agreement. Neither of them mentions the fact that he basically gave her permission to act the same way she did earlier. They don’t have to. They both understand.

He sets the tray down on the nightstand and hands her a cup. Trembling fingers close around it and the Doctor shivers as the warmth travels up her arms. It’s so nice.

They sit for a while, drinking their tea and not saying a thing. The Master occasionally looks at her, for a moment, and then looks away again. The Doctor knows because she does the same, only she’s sneakier at it. Probably. Hopefully.

“Thank you for the tea. And the…” The Doctor motions around the room, unsure what to call him cleaning up after her like this. “… you know.”

“Yes, well.” The Master takes a sip of his tea. “It was the least I could do.”

It wasn’t. She expected him to hurt her, expected him to shout and rage and explode and scream at her until his throat gave out. What she did… was not right. He clearly didn’t want her to do it. His reaction at finding out that her DNA created him… She shouldn’t have done it.

“I’m sorry. I knew you wouldn’t like what I did, but I did it anyway, because I’m selfish and because I can’t lose you. I’m sorry for… disregarding your choice in the matter.”

With a clink, the Master puts down his empty cup of tea and considers her. “Are you sorry you did it?”

The answer comes immediately: “No. Never.”

She puts her own cup down and looks at him. “Master, you… I lied a lot back in the Matrix chamber. I hate what they did. I hate not being who I thought I was. I hate…” Them. “This is not a gift. It’s just one more burden on my shoulders. Do you know how much I despise immortality? How much I hated the thought of Time Lords living so long they lose everyone and everything around? Even before you showed me that I’m… this other being, this immortal outcast, even before that I hated that I seemed unable to just give up. And now?”

She laughs a hollow, broken laugh.

“Now I don’t know what to do. I’ve spent… ages in prison. I don’t remember how long.” That’s a lie. She remembers. She counted the days, the months, the decades, ticked the seconds off in her head, like ticking off the days in a calendar, waiting for that **special** day to arrive, only she didn’t know when that day was coming, didn’t know if there even **was** a day.

“It broke me.” There, it’s out.

The Doctor takes a deep breath and then exhales again, sinking into herself. “It broke me. The knowledge of… everything. And I said things I didn’t mean, things I still don’t mean. And I didn’t realize what I said until I was in a prison cell, unable to do anything but think.”

The Master next to her is listening avidly, not moving a muscle. Not interrupting.

“I was **horrible**. I said such horrible things. And then I left. I ran away and just **left** you there. How could I do that? How could I just…?!”

A sob tears from her chest, and the Doctor realizes too late, doesn’t manage to swallow it back down. It spills over her lips and she’s shaking again, this time not from the cold.

“I spent years thinking of that moment. Me leaving you. I shouldn’t have done that. I thought… I thought that was the last time I’d ever see you again like that.” She looks up at him, finds that his face is all blurry. Oh, she’s crying.

“I thought I’d lost you. I thought I destroyed everything. Why would you want to be my friend after that? Why would you…?”

Two arms reach for her and then she’s pulled into a warm chest and feels the Master stroke over her back in slow, calming circles. “You didn’t. You didn’t lose me. I’m here. I’m here, Theta.”

“Koschei. Koschei, I’m so sorry,” she gasps out and feels him tremble, the way she did when he said her name. She wraps her own arms around him, listens to his hearts beating, revels in the warmth of his body, finds comfort in the feeling of him in her arms, of her in his arms.

They stay like this for a long time.

Eventually, though, the Master lets go and pulls away. Reaches up to wipe a stray tear from the Doctor’s face. Leans in to press his lips against her forehead.

“Come on, I think you need to sleep a bit. You’ve had a long day.”

She doesn’t argue when he helps her lie down and doesn’t argue when he dims the lights. But she grabs his arm when he makes to leave. “Stay.” It’s not quite an order, but it’s clearly not a question. He looks down at her.

“Please. Stay.”

His eyes soften. “Alright, Doctor. I’m staying.”

She politely looks away as he strips out of his shirt and trousers and then feels him climb into bed beside her. His body is radiating heat. A shiver races down her spine and the Master notices. “Come here.”

Without protesting, the Doctor shuffles into his arms. Her chilled skin slowly warms at his scorching touch. “You’re an idiot, Doctor,” the Master murmurs into her ear. “Never do something reckless like that again.”

She tips her head up and looks at him. “Never let some Cyber-technology into your head again and I won’t have to.” He concedes with a slight nod.

“It melted, by the way. When I…” She nods at his chest, the center of the heat. “I didn’t mean to melt it, it just happened. But, well, don’t do that again because I don’t know how else to get stuff like that out of your brain.”

“That’s both disconcerting and impressive, Doctor, but if you’ll remember, you exhausted yourself today and you need to rest,” the Master points out. Her mouth snaps shut and she blushes. “Right. Sorry.”

They lapse into silence. Then: “Thank you.”

With a frown, the Doctor looks up. “For what?”

“You saved my life. You gave me your regeneration energy, far too much of it. And the first thing I did was scream at you and push you off a bed, when instead I should have thanked you.”

Her frown deepens. “You don’t need to thank me for that. I completely disregarded your very obvious wishes not to… have part of me in you. You have every right to be angry at me. I was selfish and stupid and lonely.”

He brushes a strand of hair from her face. “You still saved my life. You gave me so much that it almost killed you.” She makes a noise of protest. “Doctor, I’m burning up and you’re freezing. You gave me far too much and were prepared to give me even **more**! How could I be angry with you about that?”

She stays quiet. There are a million things she could say that would disprove his words, a million things that would make him see just **why** he should be angry with her. She doesn’t say any of them aloud. Not now. Not here. Not in this tentatively peaceful space.

“Thank you, Doctor.”

“Of course,” she whispers. “I did it and I would do it a thousand times more, if I had to. I can’t lose you. I can’t do this on my own.”

He leans down and presses a quick kiss to her forehead. “And I’ll make sure you never have to. I’m here now. I’m here and I’m not leaving.”

Her hearts skip a few beats. “I’m not leaving, either. Not again. Not ever again.”

They lie in each other’s arms, holding the other close, and then the Doctor slowly leans up to kiss the Master. It’s a soft kiss, sweet and slow, and it tastes of their tea. The Master smiles into it and the Doctor can’t help but do the same.

When they break apart again, the Doctor snuggles closer and rests her head on the Master’s chest. The beats of his hearts are so achingly familiar that it almost makes her cry.

One of his hands comes up to stroke her hair. “Sleep now, Doctor. I promise I’ll still be here when you wake up again.”

“Okay,” she says. His words help. His promise to stay. She feels her eyes droop, finally allowed to do so after everything. The sound of his heartsbeats lulls her into a gentle darkness. She was wrong, earlier, she thinks. Being in his arms was nice and good, but this?

**This** is home.

** The End **

**Author's Note:**

> Oookay.  
> So, I think someone needs to slap me now. I had two perfectly nice days to write this story in, two days in which I did not look at my laptop ONCE. I had about a thousand words already written when I posted the last prompt story and thought 'hey, I've got two days to make this' and then I DIDN'T. I wrote the rest of the four thousand words all yesterday evening, until deep into the night, feeling incredibly stupid for not being able to properly manage my writing time.
> 
> This wasn't originally supposed to be so angsty but then the Master woke up and yelled. I don't know. He's just like that.
> 
> I woke up yesterday with one sentence in my mind: ''You're so much more than me,' he says, towering above her.' And I almost put it in. But when I wrote the scene later that day, he suddenly knelt down instead! And I couldn't make him get up again just to say that. It's far more symbolic like this, anyway.  
> (Also, please imagine the Master got washed up at some point. I only realized when reading it over right now that he's got blood all over his face and that I never address it. He washes it off. Either when she's unconscious or when he's getting tea. That little tidbit just didn't fit into the narrative. The Doctor wouldn't have noticed.)
> 
> Concerning the title, because I haven't talked enough about this story yet (I'm sorry): When they were kneeling on the ground and the Doctor topples over into the Master, at first I had him grab her chin and whne he lets go she falls. But then I had the thought 'make her be ice cold because she expelled so much regeneration energy' and then I changed it up because he needed to realize she's cold only once she fell. And while writing, I tried to come up with a better way to say she's freezing. And then I thought 'burning up is for being hot, how about burning out?' And while I didn't use it then, I thought that would make a neat title. Burning up and burning out. Since that's what they're doing. Only I try to make these titles a little more personal, so I made it 'I'm burning up and you're burning out'. Then I swapped them because, wait, she's not burning up. And then I realized... Well, at first she is. So much regeneration energy, of course she'd be burning up. And he's dying, burning out in a way.  
> And then I realized it would rhyme if I put in 'or is it the other way around?'. So that's my title.  
> (It's probably pretty obvious what it means, though, I don't know why I just wrote all that... sorry)
> 
> So, to me the ending feels a bit rushed, but I think that's only because I rushed to write it and still get enough sleep yesterday oops.  
> (And yes, I am aware that this story is very similar to the Haircut one but what else did you want me to do? These two yell at each other for a bit and then they take care of each other. That's their whole relationship, except the taking care bit is usually only a few seconds or something.)
> 
> I'll try to get something for tomorrow. I already have an idea but it... might not be finished. Damn it, I really shouldn't have not written those two days I didn't post... We'll see.
> 
> Wash your hands, wear your masks, smile and laugh as often as you can.


End file.
